Is "Show, Don't Tell" Ruining Your Writing?

Photo by Richard Heinen on Unsplash

I once edited a sci-fi novel where a character was introduced as “the most feared general in the sector.” But in every scene, he was quiet and bookish. About as threatening as a librarian. Why? The writer had fallen into one of the most common “show, don’t tell” traps and, despite feedback from dozens of beta readers, they were no closer to fixing it.

Sound familiar?

The problem is the advice itself. “Show, don’t tell” makes perfect sense, but only when you already understand what it means. And figuring that out can be as challenging as clipping a dragon’s toenails, because there’s a lot of misinformation out there.

Recently, I asked hundreds of authors about this, and the same misconceptions came up over and over again.

So, what does “show, don’t tell” actually mean? And how do you use this advice in a way that’s helpful to your writing?

Today we’re getting to the bottom of it, once and for all.

“Show, don’t tell” is a very specific tool, made to fix specific problems.

You’re Not Bad at Showing, You’ve Just Been Misled

The world doesn’t play fair with writers.

You’re told that “show, don’t tell” is the golden rule, so you try it: filling your pages with sensory details and character reactions. But your beta readers still say it feels distant. In fact, all that effort seems to backfire, leaving your prose more bloated and less immersive than ever.

That’s usually when writers come to me. By then, they’re frustrated, exhausted, and demoralised. And as I work on their book, it’s easy to see why. I notice all the times they’ve tried so hard to show—adding physical reactions and piling on sensory details. I can’t even imagine how frustrating it must be to do all of that, and still end up hearing that their story “doesn’t work.”

But it happens all the time: people sink hundreds of hours into their book, perfecting “show, don’t tell,” only to end up with three solid paragraphs of telling on the first page, without even knowing it.

That’s not the writer’s fault. They didn’t make a mistake, and gods know it wasn’t for lack of trying.

They’ve just been misled from the start about what showing is and what it isn’t.

Photo by Claudio Poggio on Unsplash

Busting Common ‘Show, Don’t Tell’ Myths

When I asked writers what they’d been told about showing and telling, some patterns jumped out immediately—common misunderstandings that, if you follow them, could actually do more harm than good.

These are the issues I see come up in so many of the novels I work on.

Myth 1: Scenes are better than summaries

The most common lie writers are told is that “show, don’t tell” means we should always write things out in full. That it’s better to write a flashback than a chunk of backstory, and “good authors” never summarise or skim through time.

This one is especially toxic, because it contains a grain of truth.

Here’s a glimpse into a scene that’s written in full:

“You’ll die alone, then!” David screamed. “Is that what you want?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he walked out the door and slammed it shut before his dad could say another word.

And here’s the same moment told in summary:

David argued with his father, then left the house and went for a walk.

Notice how distant and numb this second example feels? That’s a great sign that telling is at work. And it’s easy to believe that’s all telling is. That all we have to do is write everything in full and bam. Problem solved.

Unfortunately, the truth is more nuanced.

Because some scenes need to be told in summary: the reader has to know what happens, but writing every moment will bring the story screaming to a halt.

Here’s the first thing nobody tells you: telling isn’t bad or wrong. It’s important, and sometimes we need it.

Granted, it always comes with a cost. As we’ve seen, telling creates distance, and so we need to treat it with care. When a scene matters, it’s best to write it in full. When it doesn’t, we can skip it entirely. But there are times when neither of those work.

In those moments, it’s fine to skim over things, or have one character tell their backstory, and move on to the next important moment.

Sometimes, that’s exactly what the story needs.

Photo by Hulki Okan Tabak on Unsplash

Myth 2: Showing means not being direct

The second lie is that showing means using more words, and more flowery language. For example, instead of:

The road ran through the centre of town.

We should write something like:

The cobbled street was uneven with potholes and tufts of yellow grass as it meandered between the tavern and the old town jail.

This one is particularly seductive to writers. We want to believe that, if we just add a little more description, we’ll make everything real for our readers. If we can just find the right words, that will solve all of our problems.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: both the “before” and “after” examples are telling. The second version just uses more words.

In the second quote, we’re still telling the reader about the road. It’s true that we’re being more specific, perhaps more evocative, and both of those have their place. If the specific details are important, or we’re trying to create a unique atmosphere, then we can absolutely let loose and wax lyrical.

But “show, don’t tell” convinces writers they always have to write this way. About everything. And ultimately? That’s results in stories that are overly wordy, grind along at a snail’s pace, and become more impenetrable and frustrating for our readers.

The good news? Showing actually has nothing to do with descriptions. And that means you’re free to use as many (or as few) words as you’d like—or ideally, as many as the story needs.

Sometimes you want to spend a paragraph gushing about the emerald pools set in her lover’s ochre face.

Other times, it’s fine just to say he has green eyes.

Myth 3: We show emotion with physical reactions

Here’s the one that causes the most problems for my clients: if we want to show fear, we should describe the cold dread in a character’s stomach. To show anger, we show her throat tightening. If she’s facing an important moment, her heart is pounding in her throat.

It’s easy to see how writers fall into this trap. We know that character emotions are important, and that just naming them (“she was angry”/“she was scared”) counts as telling. So, we close our eyes, imagine what that emotion feels like in our body, then write it down.

Even the Emotion Thesaurus (an excellent resource for showing a character’s feelings!) has sections for the bodily reactions that emotions can cause.

Given all of that, you can forgive a writer for thinking that they just need to add these visceral physical reactions, and they’re set.

“Show, don’t tell”? Nailed it.

So then, what’s the problem?

Firstly, this works better on screen than in prose. When we can see a character struggling for breath, biting back tears, or clenching their fists, the actor is there to draw us into that emotion and make us feel it, too. It’s literally their job!

But when we’re writing a story, all of that work gets shifted onto our reader. We’re asking them to imagine this physical reaction, interpret what feelings are causing it, then project that emotion into our story. And unfortunately, most readers just aren’t prepared to put in that effort. If we want them to feel something, we have to make them.

So, while physical reactions might be a step up from naming the emotions directly, the only way to ensure our reader is feeling those things is to use the primary language of story: action, events, and what actually happens on the page.

If our character is scared, what does he actually do? Does he run away? Squeeze his eyes shut and make himself as small as possible? Explode with rage? His actions make the feeling real, and as a bonus, they show the reader exactly who he is!

Photo by Liam McGarry on Unsplash

Myth 4: Showing means sensory detail

I blame whoever first misquoted Chekhov for this one.

I’m sure you’ve all heard the quote:

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

Everyone tells us this: from English teachers to that one guy in your writing group, like it’s the word of God. So of course writers believe it. It’s hammered into them time and time again.

But, as we’ve already learned, telling the reader the moon is glinting on broken glass is still telling them something. Truthfully, all description is telling: we can only get the reader to picture something by telling them what it looks like.

And it’s not even Chekhov’s fault, because his words have been taken wildly out of context.

Here’s what he actually said:

In descriptions of Nature one must seize on small details, grouping them so that when the reader closes his eyes, he gets a picture. For instance, you’ll have a moonlit night if you write that on the mill dam, a piece of glass from a broken bottle glittered like a bright little star, and that the black shadow of a dog or wolf rolled past like a ball.

So, Chekhov was actually teaching us how to weave a spell around our readers—drawing them into the atmosphere of the moment. And his advice is masterful for that.

It’s something we undoubtedly want to use in our own writing. So, instead of saying it’s cold, we have our characters shivering and pulling on another sweater. We describe the brittle creak of bone-dry snow under their feet.

Does that lead to better descriptions? Most definitely!

But it also misleads writers about what showing actually is, and drags our stories further and further away from where we need them to go.

Myth 5: If I write it in dialogue, it’s showing

The final lie writers are told is that, if they want to show something, they should have the characters talk about it.

So instead of writing:

Mithras the Great conquered the city centuries ago, subjugating the native Elerist people.

We’d have something like:

“You know those Elerists are always causing trouble. Ever since Mithras the Great conquered the city three centuries ago.”

It’s tempting to believe this lie, because it’s an easy fix, right? We just need to have our characters talk about things and the problem is solved.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t fix anything. Because this second example is still telling—it’s just wearing a dialogue-shaped hat. And writing this way will still leave our stories drowning in exposition.

So, how do we fix the problem for real?

To do that, we have to go deeper.

And we have to talk about what showing actually means.

Photo by Felix Mooneeram on Unsplash

From Abstract to Action: The Real Meaning of “Show”

Here’s the truth so many writers are seeking: “show, don’t tell” means demonstrating an internal state through external evidence.

It’s a very specific tool, made to fix specific problems. And it only applies to five things:

1. Who our characters are (their key personality traits)

2. What they want (their goals)

3. What happened to them before (their backstory, relationships, etc)

4. What they’re feeling right now (their emotions)

5. Our worldbuilding details (politics, social hierarchies, religion, world history, etc)

And that’s it. If we’re talking about anything else—from a character’s appearance to the description of a town—then “show, don’t tell” doesn’t come into it.

All it means is that, when it comes to the fundamental-but-intangible details of our story, we should make those real through what actually happens, instead of just telling the reader how things are.

In practice, it looks like:

• Instead of saying “they were brave,” show the character putting themselves in danger, and show the terrible cost. Because that’s what makes it real, and what makes the reader care.

• Instead of “he wanted to find his missing sister,” show him staying up for days, chasing every lead, and neglecting his needs to the point where his friends are worried about him.

• Instead of “his new friend humiliated him over dinner,” show him forcing a smile through the rest of the meal, then going out, getting blackout drunk, and smashing up his own apartment.

• Rather than “her wife cheated on her,” think about how that affects who she is. How she acts. Maybe she never trusts anyone again. Maybe she keeps herself at a distance. If we keep the reader guessing about what made her this way (or even refuse to tell them entirely!) we only make them want to know more.

• Instead of “the country was at war,” have the characters attacked by brutal deserters who rob them of everything they have.

You’ll also want to remember this: “show, don’t tell” does not mean “never tell.”

It’s just that, when it comes to the most important elements of our novel, we want to show a little more and tell a little less.

Your “Show, Don’t Tell” Action Plan

Here’s how to put all of this into practice.

Pull up your latest work in progress

• Pick a scene at random

• What are the core details in this scene? What do you want the reader to know about:

  • Your characters’ personalities?

  • Their desires and goals?

  • What they’re feeling?

  • The characters’ past?

  • Your setting, world, and the people who live in it?

• For each core detail you find, ask:

  • What would this make the characters do?

  • What is the external evidence for this?

  • How can I demonstrate it through something that happens right now?

And just like that, your scene is rich with showing, your reader will feel the beating heart of your story, and you’ll never need to wrestle with “show, don’t tell” ever again.

Does that make things any clearer? How do you use showing and telling in your own stories? And which of these myths have you struggled with the most?

I’d love to hear about it!

---

✒️ Before You Go...

Want to build a storytelling community?

I’m committed to keeping all my deep-dive posts (like this one) free. But if you’re finding real value here and would like to take the conversation further, you can help me launch a paid tier with an interactive twist.

When we reach 30 pledges, I’ll unlock:

• A subscriber-only Discord for real-time questions and support.

• Monthly live workshops where we’ll dive into stories submitted by you, and find out how to make them stronger.

Think of it as a creative co-working space for spec fic writers. If that sounds like your kind of thing, you can pledge your support below and help to make it happen.